


Not Gonna Break for You

by bayloriffic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity gets a life. Oliver gets jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time after "Corto Maltese" (3.03). Title from "Just One of the Guys" by Jenny Lewis.

For some reason, Oliver gets it into his head that Halloween is going to be some big night of crime or something, and so while the rest of the city is out going to parties and gorging on candy, Felicity and Roy and Diggle are down in the foundry with Oliver, ready to save the city from whatever nefarious plans the villains of Starling City have in store.

Even though Felicity figures the worst crimes that are going to be perpetrated tonight are probably of the egging and toilet-papering variety, she doesn’t have anything else to do, and sitting at home alone on Halloween in her sweatpants and eating a carton of ice cream is almost too depressing to contemplate. It used to be that Halloween was her favorite holiday, and she'd dress up in a silly costume and hit a couple of parties with some of her friends from the IT department. But over the past two years, her friend group has dwindled significantly, so that the only people she really hangs out with these days only dress up in costumes when they're trying to catch bad guys. 

So while Oliver and Roy and Diggle head out into the field, Felicity stays behind at the foundry, monitoring the police scanner and checking in on a couple of the crime-lair-type spots around town where she's got some hidden mics and cameras. To the surprise of absolutely no one except Oliver, there’s no major crime happening; the streets of Starling City are filled with groups of trick-or-treating kids, not terrorists, so there’s little need for the Arrow tonight. Felicity does manage to pick up some chatter on one of the surveillance mics that there's a big Vertigo deal that's supposed to go down tomorrow night at an abandoned warehouse out near the docks, so. At least the night's not a complete waste.

When the boys get back to the foundry, it's a little before eight o’clock, and they all decide they should probably just call it a night. So when Diggle and Roy start getting their things together, Felicity does too, logging out of her computer and gathering up her coat and her bag and telling herself a night of mint chip and depression might not be so terrible. 

If it were a couple of weeks ago, Felicity would just stay at the foundry for a few more hours anyway, working on her computers and hanging out with Oliver, the two of them chatting about their days, everything between them happy and easy and comfortable. But these days, she’s spending as little time as possible in the basement, since every joke, every smile, every word from her is met with a glare and stony silence from Oliver.

She tried at first, she really did. She tried to go back to how things were, to push all of her heartbreak and sadness deep down inside of her so that things wouldn’t be so horrible and weird, but the truth is, being around Oliver just makes her feel bad these days.

So she follows Roy and Digg as they leave the foundry, the three of them at the foot of the stairs that lead up to Verdant when Roy says, “So there’s this horror movie fest happening at the Rialto tonight -- anyone interested?”

Diggle smiles, but shakes his head. He's already got one foot on the bottom stair. “Sorry, man,” he says, shrugging into his jacket and giving Roy a quick pat on the shoulder. “Gotta get home and change some diapers.”

“O-kay,” Roy says doubtfully, his forehead furrowed as he watches Diggle bound up the stairs. “Is it me or does he seems weirdly happy about changing diapers?” Roy asks, turning around to face Oliver and Felicity.

“I’ll go,” Felicity says, and Roy and Oliver both look at her, eyebrows raised. “To the movies,” she clarifies. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah?” Roy asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” Felicity says, slipping on her jacket and trying to ignore the way Oliver’s still staring at her. “I love horror movies.” 

“Cool,” he says, with a half smile. “What about you, Oliver? Want to come with?”

Oliver glances from Roy back to Felicity, his gaze meeting hers for a beat before he blinks and looks away, shaking his head. “I’ve got some things around here I need to work on.”

Felicity glances down at the floor, blinking against the tears suddenly burning behind her eyes. Beside her, Roy bumps his shoulder against hers and gives her a sympathetic smile. “Ready, blondie?”

“Yep,” Felicity says with forced cheerfulness. “Let’s go get the crap scared out of us.”

*

“I don’t know how can you eat those things,” Roy says, when she offers him a Red Vine. They’re in line in the lobby, shuffling slowly into the theater with the rest of the crowd, and Felicity is learning all kinds of important things about Roy tonight. Like the fact that he goes to the movies and has terrible taste in snacks.

“Um, because they’re delicious,” Felicity says around a mouthful of candy.

Beside her, Roy makes a gagging noise. “Ugh. They taste like wax.”

“Sacrilege!” Felicity gasps, and Roy rolls his eyes. “Besides, I’m not sure that someone whose idea of proper movie candy is Junior Mints should cast aspersions on the concession choices of others.”

Roy scoffs as they make their way inside. It’s pretty packed, but they manage to find two seats together near the back, settling in with their candy and popcorn and sodas. 

It’s a zombie movie theme tonight, and the original _Night of the Living Dead_ is up first on the agenda, followed by a couple of the sequels. Felicity hasn’t actually ever seen it, but while they wait for the movie to start, Roy tells her that it’s one of his favorite films, that it completely redefined horror cinema, and that you can still see its influences in movies being made today. It’s actually the most she’s heard him talk at once since...well, since ever.

“I didn’t know you were such a movie buff,” Felicity says, glancing over at him as she takes a sip of her Diet Coke. They’ve still got a couple of minutes before the show starts, and it hits her that this is a little weird, her and Roy going to a movie together on a Friday night.

“I’m not a movie buff, I just watched a lot of movies when I was a kid,” he says with an uncomfortable shrug, glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye. His jaw looks tight, a muscle twitching there, and she realizes she’s not the only one who never talks about her family.

“I did, too, actually,” Felicity offers, biting off another piece of Red Vine and chewing it thoughtfully. “My mother is a cocktail waitress, and she mostly worked nights, which meant she slept most of the day, which meant I had to entertain myself most of the time. And even though we didn’t have cable, we did have this old VCR that one of her many boyfriends had left behind and a video store membership. It wasn’t even a good video store, just some little hole in the wall near our apartment that rented movies for a dollar, but I was obsessed. When I was in middle school, I rented _The Adventures of Robin Hood_ so many times, the guy at the video store just ended up letting me keep it.”

“ _Robin Hood_?" Roy asks skeptically, but he’s smiling a little, the tension gone from his face. "The one with Kevin Costner?”

“Ugh, no,” she says, offended that he thinks so little of her. “The one with Errol Flynn and Olivia DeHavilland.”

He just looks at her blankly.

“From the 1930s?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not really into those old black and white movies.”

"First of all, _The Adventures of Robin Hood_ is in Technicolor, not black and white," Felicity tells him, reaching over to grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket he's holding on his lap. "And second of all, we’re about to watch an old black and white movie, one that you were raving about not five minutes ago."

“It’s a horror movie, it’s different,” Roy insists, and Felicity rolls her eyes, about to argue with him, but then the lights go dim, signalling that the movie is about to start, so she makes a mental note to finish this conversation later.

*

 _Night of the Living Dead_ turns out to be amazing, and way gorier than Felicity had anticipated.

The first time one of the zombies attacks, she makes an embarrassing squeaking noise and reaches for Roy’s hand, clamping her fingers around his on the armrest between them.

“Ow,” he whispers loudly, trying pull his hand away, but Felicity just tightens her grip.

“Did I not mention you have to hold my hand during the really gross parts?” Felicity whispers back, still clutching his fingers and wincing as the zombie attack continues, dark blood spurting everywhere. Ugh, gross, gross, gross.

“I thought you said you liked horror movies,” Roy says, leaning over to talk to her in a low voice. His breath is warm against her cheek, and he smells like popcorn and peppermint.

“I do!” Felicity says, even as she scrunches her eyes closed and turns her face away from the screen. “I just don’t like the gore.” The zombie takes another bite, and even though Felicity has her eyes shut, she can still hear the wet sound of flesh ripping. Ewwww. She squeezes Roy’s hand even harder. 

“Ow,” he hisses again, but he turns his hand over so that their palms are pressed together. “Ease up a little there, would you? You're going to break something.”

“Sorry,” she says. She takes a breath, relaxing her hand slightly and turning her attention back to the screen, keeping her eyes squinched mostly closed. When the zombie attack is finally over, she lets go of Roy’s hand completely, and he sighs audibly in relief. But then when another attack happens a few minutes later, she reaches for him again, careful not to squeeze too hard this time. 

He sighs, but lets her hold his hand, not complaining at all. He keeps it resting on the armrest between them for the rest of the movie and even all the way through _Dawn of the Dead_ , so that she can grab hold of it whenever she wants.

Despite the grossness factor, the movies are pretty good, and by the end of the night, Felicity's feeling happier than she has in a while. She drives Roy home, the two of them arguing good-naturedly about which of them would last the longest in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Roy insists he has both the street smarts and the shooting skills necessary to take out any zombie he encountered, but Felicity's pretty sure her mad tech skills would allow her to survive even without the whole physical prowess thing.

When he gets out of her car, he gives her a nod of thanks and says, "See you tomorrow night, blondie."

She gives him a wave and a smile, realizing that it's the first time in a long time that thinking of going to the foundry hasn't made her stomach sink. 

*

When Felicity gets to the foundry the next night, Oliver and Diggle are sparring on the mats and Roy’s taking target practice on the far side of the room. She's had a very long day full of incredibly tedious meetings, and she just spent an hour stuck in traffic, and tonight is the big Vertigo deal that they're going to crash, which means that she has a very long night ahead of her, trying to make sure the three most important people in her life don't die in hail of bullets or arrows or whatever weapons drug dealers are using these days.

“You know, they say people are leaving Starling City because of all the terrorist attacks, but I think it’s because of the traffic," Felicity announces as she makes her way down the stairs. "I swear, I hit every red light in the city on my way here, and there were four different car accidents. Four! It took me over an hour to drive less than ten miles.” 

Diggle looks up at her with a smile. “Terrorists versus rush hour,” he says. “Talk about lose-lose.”

“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Oliver snaps, pulling on a shirt and not looking at her. “The meet is happening in less than two hours, and I need you to have the surveillance situation figured out by then.”

“I know that,” Felicity snaps back. “But like I just said, traffic sucked. Some of us have lives outside of this basement, Oliver.” It’s a low blow, she knows, and when Oliver blinks at her, hurt, she has to bite down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from apologizing. “Everything will be ready for the meet,” she says instead, keeping her voice even. “I’ve got it covered.”

He gives her a curt nod before grabbing an escrima stick and stalking over to the corner of the room to beat up on one of the training dummies. Diggle watches him go and then gives her an apologetic smile. Felicity tries to smile back, ignoring the tightness in her throat as she heads over to her computers, dropping her bag on the floor and booting everything up. 

She’s just pulled up the blueprints for the warehouse where the drug deal is supposed to happen when Roy puts down his bow wanders over to her desk, turning around to lean his back against the steel table. “I think you broke my hand,” he says conversationally.

“Huh?” Felicity says, nudging him to move over so she can pull up her traffic control program on another monitor. 

Roy dutifully takes one step to the left so she can see the screen. “At the movies last night, I think you might have fractured a couple of bones.” He holds his hand up, flexing it and wincing dramatically.

Felicity rolls her eyes, glancing up at him over the top of her glasses. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Maybe not at first, but after four hours, it got a little painful,” Roy says, leaning back against the desk. “I have bruises.”

“You do not,” Felicity says, reaching for his hand so she can see for herself. He moves it away protectively, but Felicity takes it anyway, pulling him over to her. She leans over, examining his hand, which oh man, is actually a little bruised, light purplish-blue marks marring his skin. “I did that?” she gasps.

“You’re tiny but powerful,” Roy says with a sideways smile. “We should really consider putting you out in the field more.”

“I’m really sorry,” Felicity says sincerely, holding his hand gently in hers. “Where’s that Mirakuru strength of yours when we need it, huh?”

He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe next time, just warn a guy what he’s in for.”

“You have my word,” Felicity says, putting her other hand on top of his and smiling. Roy smiles back, and then there’s a loud crack, the sound making Felicity jump in her seat. When she turns around, Roy’s hand still in hers, Oliver’s watching them, holding one half of his broken escrima stick in each hand. Even from across the room, she can see a muscle twitching in his jaw, and his eyes are dark and hooded. 

When Felicity makes eye contact with him, he blinks and looks away, and she lets go of Roy's hand before turning back to her computers. After a couple of seconds, Roy sighs and walks away, picking up his bow again, and Felicity keeps her eyes on her computers with determined focus, trying to ignore the sad, heavy feeling in her chest.

*

A couple of nights later, she’s puttering around her apartment in flannel pajama pants and a faded old MIT t-shirt when there’s a knock at her door, and when she looks through her peephole, it’s Roy, standing there in his ever-present red hoodie, a glum look on his face and a brown paper bag tucked under one arm. 

“Hi,” she says, opening the door. She’s a little confused, not just because she had no idea Roy knew where she lived, but also because she knows he’s supposed to be having dinner with Thea tonight for the first time since she got back from Corto Maltese. 

“Thea cancelled on me,” he says by way of greeting. “And our dinner.” He holds up the bag, and Felicity gets a whiff of garlic and ginger.

“Well that sucks,” Felicity says, opening the door a little wider and gesturing for him to come inside. “You want to come in?” 

He nods and follows her into her apartment, looking around curiously and setting the bag of food down on her coffee table. “Nice place,” he says, smirking when he sees the framed _Robin Hood_ poster hanging above the television. "So you were actually serious about that _Robin Hood_ thing, huh?"

"I never joke about movies," Felicity tells him with mock-seriousness.

"Well, it certainly explains why you joined up with Oliver," he says, nodding up at the poster. "You've probably been waiting your whole life for a vigilante in green to come and sweep you off your feet." Felicity's face falls, and Roy seems to realize what he's just said. "Oh shit, Felicity. I didn't mean it like that," he says, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I'm sorry. I can just...I can go --"

Felicity shakes her head, holding up a hand to cut him off. "Don't worry about it," she tells him, with a tight smile. "It is actually kind of ridiculous, isn't it? That's what I get for forgetting that real life isn't a fairy tale."

Roy gives her a sympathetic smile. "For what it's worth, I don't think it's ridiculous. You and Oliver, I mean. He's just an idiot."

Felicity shrugs one shoulder, and the silence that stretches between them is tense and awkward. “How did you know where I lived?” Felicity finally says, and Roy looks grateful for the change in subject.

“I looked it up on one of those search database things you have on the computers in the foundry.” He shrugs and wanders over to the bookshelf near the front door, studying the pictures and knick-knacks she's got on display.

“Oh,” Felicity says. “That’s...weirdly invasive.”

“You do it all the time,” Roy says, turning back towards her, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, to criminals.”

“Last week, you did it to some guy who cut you off in traffic. You said you were going to hack into the FBI database and have his address listed as a possible meeting place for a terrorist cell.” 

“That was different,” Felicity says defensively, brushing past him and heading into the kitchen. “That guy was a public menace. Reckless driving is incredibly dangerous.”

Roy snorts. “Right.” 

“What do you want to drink?” Felicity calls, peering into her fridge. "I’ve got beer or wine or...really, really expired milk.” Ugh, maybe she should have spent the day cleaning her kitchen rather than watching that _America's Next Top Model_ marathon.

“Beer’s good,” Roy says. She pushes the gross milk to the back of the fridge and grabs a beer before pouring herself a glass of wine. 

“So,” she says, handing Roy the beer. “What were you and Thea supposed to do tonight? Besides eat takeout, I mean?”

Roy shrugs and takes a long drink of his beer. “Nothing really. Just hang out, catch up on some of the tv shows she missed while she was gone. But then she texted me while I was on my way over to her place, and she said she wasn’t feeling up to it, so. Whatever.” He shrugs again.

“I’m sorry, Roy,” Felicity says.

“It’s fine,” he says, but his voice is tight and there’s a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

“Well, I know you’d definitely rather be there than here, but I’m glad you came by.”

“Yeah?” Roy says, poking at a carton of rice with his chopsticks and glancing at her sidelong.

“Yeah,” Felicity says. “Mostly because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your whole ‘I don’t like old movies’ stance. And now that you’re here, I can do more than talk to you about it, I can show you the amazing brilliance of classic cinema.” She grabs the remote, waving it in front of him. "We'll start with _Robin Hood_ , obviously, since it's the greatest movie of all time."

Roy groans, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. 

“You’re going to love it,” Felicity assures him, taking a bite of lo mein. “But before we get into all of that,” she says, putting down the food and picking up her glass. “A toast: To having our hearts broken by the Queens.” 

“To the Queens,” Roy says, clinking his bottle against her glass. They both take a long drink, and Felicity feels suddenly glad Roy showed up on her doorstep tonight, their shared misery somehow making everything a little easier to bear.

* 

It’s quiet in the foundry when she gets there the next afternoon, just the soft slide and snick of Oliver sharpening his arrows at the table in the corner. She's not sure where Roy and Diggle are, and she hesitates for just a second when she gets to the bottom of the stairs and realizes that it's just her and Oliver down here. He doesn't turn around, though, so she just takes a deep breath, determined to get through this without any weirdness. 

Her plan lasts all of five seconds because, when she gets halfway across the room, she notices the fern sitting on the table right next to Oliver. Felicity stops in her tracks, just standing in the middle of the foundry and staring at the plant, which disappeared sometime after Sara's death, an apparent victim of Oliver’s determination to erase every bit of humanity from his life down here. But now the fern is back, sitting in the glow of the desk lamp right next to where Oliver is working on his arrows. Every time he runs the file over the arrow head, his hands brush against the fronds. The leaves look very green against his skin.

She wonders if Oliver’s been taking care of it, watering it and making sure it gets enough light. He must be, the plant still looking green and healthy and alive. The realization makes something in her chest feel tight.

She’s not sure how long she stands there before Oliver turns around and sees her, his expression soft and open. When he notices what she’s looking at, he gives her what passes for a smile these days, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly the corners.

"Felicity," Oliver says in the same way that he used to, back before everything fell apart, and Felicity’s heart skips in her chest. "Hey."

"Hey," Felicity says back. He's still looking right at her, and his eyes are very, very blue, and neither one of them say anything else, the two of them just watching each other in the dim light of the basement.

The moment stretches between them, quiet and full of possibility, and then the basement door bangs open, and Roy's clambering down the stairs. Felicity blinks and Oliver looks down, and, just like that, the moment’s gone.

“Hey guys,” Roy says, giving them a nod. "What's up?"

Felicity doesn't answer, just blinks again and glances over at Oliver. He’s still staring at the floor, his elbows braced on his knees, and Felicity swallows hard, trying to ignore the way her heart is racing in her chest.

"You guys okay?" Roy asks doubtfully, looking from Felicity to Oliver and then back again.

"We're fine, Roy," Oliver says, his tone even. "Did you need something?"

"Uh," Roy says, clearly still sensing the weirdness. "Yeah, I just wanted to ask Felicity if she got the text I sent her this morning."

They both turn to look at her, and Felicity clears her throat, fidgeting with her necklace, until Oliver turns away again, swiveling back around to face his table full of arrows, and her heart slows down to something approaching its normal speed. 

“Felicity?" Roy says. "The text?"

Felicity takes a breath, tamping down all of the residual Oliver-induced weirdness and pasting on a perky smile. “Oh,” she says, and her voice sounds totally normal, which shouldn't surprise her. She's always been very good at compartmentalizing, after all. “You mean the _five_ texts you sent me while I was in the middle of a very important, very stressful meeting with the Head of Applied Sciences of Wayne Enterprises _and_ the Head of IT of Kord Industries?”

“Yeah,” Roy says with a shrug. “I guess.” At some point during their impromptu dinner and a movie thing last night, Roy started complaining about the temperature in her apartment, finally taking off his hoodie when Felicity told him in no uncertain terms that the temperature was staying exactly where she had it. Then, he forgot it when he left for the night, and then proceeded to send her multiple texts reminding her to bring it with her to foundry. 

“Yes, Roy, I got your texts.” She rolls her eyes, holding her hand up to cut him off before he can say anything else. “And, yes, I brought your hoodie.”

“Good,” Roy says, sounding relieved. What is it with this kid and his jacket? Felicity can say, now that they’re actual friends and not just foundry-friends, that he’s more or less a normal guy, but this thing with his hoodie is completely weird.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says, reaching into her bag for the hoodie. Across the room, Oliver still has his back to them, but he's not working on his arrows, and he's got his head cocked slightly, the lines of his back tense under his grey t-shirt. “Does this thing have some kind of weird mystical powers or something? I’ve never seen someone so attached to a piece of clothing.”

“I’m not attached to it,” Roy says defensively. “I just like it.”

Felicity scoffs. “I’m actually amazed you took it off in the first place.” 

Roy rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t have even had to take it off if you didn’t keep your apartment at like a million degrees.” 

“My apartment is kept at a normal, regular room temperature. Maybe if _you_ weren’t so hot, you wouldn’t have this problem. I mean...not that...I don’t mean that you’re hot, just that your body is hot," she says, and what the hell is wrong with her? She presses her palm against her forehead, closing her eyes and counting down from three. When she opens her eyes, Roy's smirking at her. Jerk. "Not _hot_ hot. I don't think you're hot. Obviously. Or, well, maybe not obviously, since you're actually kind of handsome, and...ugh, just take the stupid jacket, Roy.” 

Roy's practically grinning as he takes the hoodie from her. “You know --” he starts.

“Roy,” Oliver snaps, his voice loud and angry in the open space of the foundry. He’s suddenly facing them again, glaring at them both, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his face impassive. “Get dressed and start patrolling.”

“Now?” Roy asks, his eyebrows shooting up. “It’s not even dark out yet.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that not all criminals wait until after sundown to get to work. It would be nice if you could do the same.” 

“Yeah, well, it would be nice if you could be less of an asshole,” Roy says under his breath, and Felicity winces as Oliver freezes, his whole body going rigid and his hands clenching into fists at his side.

“What was that?” Oliver asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Roy just smirks and rolls his eyes, and Oliver's across the room before Felicity even realizes what's happening, grabbing Roy by the front of his shirt and pulling him up until they're face-to-face.

Roy's eyes go wide, the muscles cording on his neck, but Oliver's holding him so that his feet are off the floor, and Roy can't get any leverage to push him away. It all happens too fast, the speed and violence of Oliver's attack leaving her speechless and wide-eyed, and it feels like everything is spinning out of control, like everything is frozen like this, Oliver's rage and Roy's hurt and her own confusion.

Then: "Oliver," Diggle barks from somewhere behind her, and Oliver blinks, letting go of Roy and taking a step back. Roy stumbles as he regains his footing, rubbing at his throat. He's still got his hoodie clutched in one hand, holding onto it so hard his knuckles have gone white. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Digg asks, glancing between Roy and Oliver before his gaze settles on Felicity. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, biceps straining against his sleeves, and he looks tired, dark circles under his eyes. No one says anything, and Diggle cuts his eyes over to Roy. "You okay, man?"

“Whatever,” Roy mumbles, brushing past Oliver and pulling his suit out of the glass case, yanking it hard enough that the mannequin it sits on falls over, thumping heavily against the glass. He doesn't look back as he heads towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. 

Diggle turns to Oliver, his eyebrows raised. "Oliver?" he says again, his tone quiet and serious.

“Everything’s fine,” Oliver assures him, but his voice shakes and the look in his eyes is a little wild. It's a look Felicity hasn't seen since before Oliver decided he was going to be the Arrow, not the Hood, and she gets a sick feeling in her stomach.

"Felicity?" Digg asks, but Felicity just looks away. He sighs, shaking his head and turning away, and Felicity takes a deep breath, trying to get her bearings.

She stands in the middle of the room, not sure what to do, glancing around the foundry, not focusing on anything in particular until her gaze finally lands on the fern, healthy and alive under the light.

When she finally looks over at Oliver, he's watching her, an expression on his face that she can't read, and Felicity wishes that, just once, everything in her life wasn't quite so complicated.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, I feel like I should apologize for what happened the other night,” Felicity says. She and Roy are at the coffee shop just down the street from her apartment, the two of them sitting across from each other at one of the little sidewalk tables outside, Felicity with an iced mocha and Roy with a cup of black coffee. “Well, actually, Oliver should be the one to apologize, but that’s probably never going to happen, so. I’m sorry about...whatever it was that happened.” 

Roy shrugs one shoulder, looking a little uncomfortable as he fidgets with the lid on his coffee cup. “It’s fine. I mean, I was clearly stepping on his toes.” 

Felicity tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Just that...Oliver thinks that you and me, that we’re, you know…” he trails off, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“That we’re what?” Felicity asks, taking a sip of her coffee and then poking at the ice with her straw.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Oliver thinks we’re hooking up,” he says bluntly.

Felicity chokes on her coffee, coughing and pressing her palm lightly against her chest as she tries to process what Roy just said. “You and me?” she finally manages. “You think that Oliver thinks…” She coughs again, shaking her head and blinking a few times.

“Yeah,” Roy says. “He definitely does.” 

“Gross,” Felicity blurts out, realizing just a second too late that that was kind of a mean thing to say. “I mean, not gross, like you’re repulsive or something. You’re not repulsive; you’re totally great. Platonically great, I mean. You’re like my brother or my cousin or my _very_ platonic friend that I definitely do not want to have sex with. Not because I don’t think you’d be good at it. I mean, you seem focused and you’re surprisingly sweet and, just to be clear, I have _not_ thought about how you’d be in bed. Seriously, the thought of you and me, of us hooking up is just...blech.” She does an exaggerated shudder, scrunching up her face and grimacing. When she looks up, Roy's looking at her with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, so: “No offense,” she adds quickly.

“Gee, why would I be offended?” Roy rolls his eyes. “And don’t worry,” he says, nudging her ankle with his foot under the table. “The feeling’s mutual.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Felicity smiles, before she adds, “Although, even if something were happening between us, that doesn’t excuse how Oliver acted."

“I know,” Roy agrees. “And, trust me, I’m not defending him by any means, but. The guy’s totally in love with you, Felicity.”

Felicity swallows hard, looking down at the table in front of her. “Oliver’s in love with his own misery,” she says, and she’s proud of how steady her voice comes out, how it doesn’t waver at all. 

Roy shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree with her, which Felicity appreciates. “So, I talked to Thea last night,” he says, and Felicity’s so grateful for the change in subject she could kiss him. Except not, because: gross. 

“That’s great. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good, actually. We’re...she wants to try to do the whole let’s-be-friends thing, which is...I’m just glad she’s back,” Roy says, taking a sip of his coffee. “She’s moving into a new apartment on Saturday, so I told her I’d help her with that, since that’s the kind of thing friends do. Right?” he adds, sounding doubtful.

“Right,” Felicity agrees quickly, before the implications of what he's just said hit her. “Wait. You’re helping her move Saturday? _This_ Saturday?”

“Yeah, why?” he asks, and Felicity raises her eyebrows, waiting for him to remember that he’s already made plans with her this weekend to go see the new Space Exploration exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. It takes him a couple of seconds, but then he winces. “Shit,” he says. “This Saturday’s the museum. Listen, I can call Thea and cancel --”

“Don’t you dare,” Felicity cuts him off, holding up her index finger in warning. 

“You sure?” 

Felicity sighs dramatically. “Well, it’s going to be hard to enjoy the museum without you whining about how bored you are, but I think I can probably manage.” She bumps her foot against his under the table. “Have fun with Thea.”

“Thanks,” he says, bumping her back, and Felicity's happy for him, she really is. 

*

So, the thing about going to a museum alone is that it kind of sucks. 

More than once, she thinks about leaving, maybe going to check in over at the foundry to see if anything is happening Arrow-wise, but, she reminds herself, she is committed to doing more with her life than sitting in the foundry. Which is why she is determined to spend the her Saturday afternoon at the Starling City Museum of Science and Industry, listening to the guided tour on her phone and wishing she weren’t quite so bored. Not that the technology is boring -- it’s totally not -- but being in a museum and listening to someone who sounds weirdly like Marge Simpson drone in her ear about the miraculous advances of farm equipment is not particularly riveting. 

Felicity’s staring down at her phone, trying to skip past the agricultural technology part of the tour and onto the space exhibit, when she runs smack dab into another person, hard enough that she stumbles and almost falls. Luckily, the person she runs into reaches out and grabs her hand before she hits the floor. Once she’s sure she’s not going to fall on her face, she takes an immediate step back, straightening her glasses and opening her mouth to babble out an apology. 

But then she looks up and sees who she just ran into, and of course it’s Ray Palmer, and her apology dies in her throat. 

“Ray,” she says instead, pressing pause on the audio tour and reaching up to pull her headphones out of her ears. "Hey. Hi."

“I’m not stalking you,” Ray says immediately, pulling out one of his earbuds and holding his hand out, palm up. He’s dressed casually, jeans and a red-and-grey plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What?” Felicity says, lifting her eyebrows.

“The last time we ran into each other outside of work? You accused me of stalking you. And I just want it to be clear that that is not what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Felicity agrees, mostly because she knows he doesn’t need to stalk her anymore since she accepted his job offer and they see each other pretty much all the time now. “So what are you doing here? Do you normally spend your Saturday afternoons hanging out in museums?”

“Yes, actually,” Ray says. “Or, well. Sometimes. Although, last weekend I went to a Starling City Kings game -- they were playing the Thrashers and they lost miserably, it was a complete debacle -- and the weekend before that there was this Shakespeare in the Park thing that I was really excited about. But then it turned out to be this version of _Hamlet_ where the whole thing took place in a mental institution? Suffice it to say, it was terrible." He shakes his head and sighs. "But the weekend before _that_ , I did go to the Natural History museum, which was spectacular. They had a fully reconstructed skeleton of this new dinosaur that was just discovered, and it had a beak and these weirdly human-looking arms, and that was just… _wow._ I must have stared at it for hours. What about you?”

“Have I stared at a weird dinosaur skeleton for hours?” Felicity asks, amused despite herself.

Ray smiles, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He’s got a nice smile, easy and sincere, his whole face lighting up with it. “Do you spend your weekends going to museums?” 

“Oh.” Felicity shakes her head. “No. Not usually. But it’s this new thing I’m trying. Not just spending my weekends at museums -- because that would be kind of weirdly specific -- but just trying to take advantage of the city, do new things, see new places. Which today involves coming to the museum, where I have actually never been, despite having lived in Starling City for almost five years at this point. I was actually supposed to come here with a friend, but he punked out on me to hang out with the love of his life, so. Here I am. Alone at the museum. Listening to this incredibly boring audio tour that is somehow managing to make agricultural technology even duller than it sounds.” 

Ray laughs, holding up his phone, the display showing he’s listening to the tour as well. “It’s completely terrible, right? And what’s with the woman’s voice? She sounds like Marge Simpson.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Felicity exclaims, loud enough that a couple people turn and give her dirty looks. 

Felicity blushes, but Ray just smiles, falling into step beside her. He’s very tall and he smells kind of distractingly good, like laundry detergent and expensive wood. 

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” he asks. “I mean, we don’t have to talk or anything if you don’t want to, we can just listen to Marge tell us about the invention of the tractor and kind of walk near each other.”

Felicity smiles. “Join away,” she says, mostly because being at a museum by yourself turns out to be a little bit boring. Even with the audio tour, she keeps wanting to talk about some of the exhibits and the few times she’s tried it with random strangers, they’ve looked less than thrilled. 

They make their way through the last bit of the agricultural exhibit fairly quickly, neither one of them particularly interested in the recent advances in tractor technology, and then they’re finally at the Space Exploration exhibit, the two of them slowing down now that they've finally gotten to the good stuff. 

“When I was a kid, I was determined to grow up to be an astronaut,” Ray tells her, leaning over to talk to her in a low voice as they both examine the placard in front of the display of spacesuits designed for use on Mars. “I even had my mom make me these spacesuit pajamas, with a fake NASA patch and my name embroidered on the chest, and I’d wear them with a white popcorn bowl on my head for a helmet...aaaand I’m just now realizing that if I want you to respect me at all as both a boss and a person, I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this because it is incredibly embarrassing.”

Felicity waves her hand dismissively, not fazed at all by his rambling. “It’s totally fine. Besides, I was the same way,” she says. “I mean, I didn’t have the spacesuit jammies or the popcorn bowl helmet, but I did want to be an astronaut.”

“So what happened?” he asks. He does that wide smile thing again, and her stomach flips. “Why am I talking to Felicity Smoak, Computer Science super-genius, and not Felicity Smoak, world-famous cosmonaut right now?”

“Apparently space is no place for the visually impaired,” Felicity tells him, tapping on the side of her glasses for emphasis. 

“Ah,” Ray says, sympathetically. “For me it was motion sickness,” he confides. “I can’t even ride in the backwards facing train seats without getting violently ill. Zero gravity would have been a disaster.” 

“In that case, remind me never to go on a roller coaster with you,” Felicity says, bumping her shoulder against his arm. 

“Hmm...guess that means I’ll have to reconsider that invitation to Magic Mountain then,” he says with mock-seriousness.

Felicity smiles at him, and then they’re walking through the museum together, neither one of them listening to the tour, and, for the first time in a long time, Felicity spends her day thinking about something other than Oliver Queen.

*

By the time they make it through the last exhibit, it’s after dark, the air filled with crisp smell of autumn, falling leaves and wood smoke.

“So, hey,” Ray says, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glancing at her sidelong. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“Oh,” Felicity says, and she’s not sure why she’s surprised. This is what normal people do, right? They spend the day together and then they get dinner together, and it’s totally normal and not at all a big meaningful thing. Besides, she’s actually pretty hungry. She hasn’t eaten anything but some toast for breakfast. So: “Yeah, actually. Dinner would be nice.”

“Great.” Ray smiles. “There’s this burger place not too far from here -- Big Belly Burgers -- they make the most amazing cheeseburger I’ve had in my life. Have you ever had it?”

Felicity’s stomach drops. It’s Saturday night, which means that Oliver and Diggle are probably at the foundry, which means that if they're going to grab dinner, it will definitely be at Big Belly, and, just like that, her normal, fun, non-Oliver afternoon has turned all tense and weird and fraught. 

“Felicity?” Ray says. “Big Belly Burger? Or, if you want, I can just leave you here to stand and stare blankly at the street...”

Felicity blinks, shaking her head to clear it. “Uh, yeah. I mean, no...I mean, I’ve had Big Belly before, but I’m not really a fan,” she lies. 

“Really?” Ray asks. “Huh. I thought it was really good.” He shrugs. “Okay, well, there’s a pizza place a couple of blocks that way--” he points down the street, away from the foundry “--if that’s more your scene.”

“That sounds great,” she says immediately. 

“Great.” Ray says, and when he smiles at her, she can’t help but smile back.

*

The pizza place Ray brings her to is actually pretty good; the sauce isn’t too heavy, and the cheese isn’t too greasy, and the bottle of Pinot Noir they split pairs surprisingly well with the pizza, and Ray insists on dessert, the two of them sharing a cannoli dipped in dark chocolate while they finish off the bottle of wine. 

By the time they’re done with dinner, Felicity’s cheeks are warm and she feels kind of pleasantly buzzed, light and happy. 

The restaurant is only a few blocks from her apartment, and so Ray ends up walking her home, their arms brushing up against each other every couple of steps. It’s nice and normal, the kind of night Felicity hasn’t had since she found Oliver shot and bleeding in her backseat, and if her mind can’t help but wander occasionally to what the boys are up to in the foundry, if they’re safe, well, that’s just to be expected. It’s going to take more than a pizza and an afternoon at the museum for her to get used to living a normal life again.

Besides, Ray’s nice, and he’s funny, and he’s easy to talk to, which is great. Between their mutual affinity for techno-babble and their mutual tendency for regular-babble, the conversation comes fast and easy and it would really be a perfect night, except for the fact that Felicity can’t shake the feeling they’re being watched. 

She turns around a few times, glancing at the street behind them and, more than once, on the rooftops of the buildings beside them, but every time she turns around, there’s no one there.

“You okay?” Ray finally asks, and Felicity jumps a little, dragging her attention back to him. She’s been focused on scanning the rooftops of the apartments across the street rather than on whatever Ray's been saying, that being-watched feeling stronger than ever.

“Of course,” Felicity says quickly, looking away from the rooftops and back to Ray. “Why? Do I not seem okay?” She knows she’s probably acting like a total weirdo, but she can’t help it. She actually can’t remember the last time she had a normal date with a normal guy. Not that this is a date or anything, just...she has to keep reminding herself that people go out together all the time without bombs going off or people trying to expose their secret identities or possibly kill them. 

“No, you seem fine. It’s just...you keep looking behind us, like you think someone’s following us,” Ray says, leaning a little closer to her. “You don’t actually have a stalker, do you? Other than me, I mean,” he adds, doing that easy-smile thing again.

Felicity laughs, but then that feeling’s back, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. She resists the urge to turn around again. “No. No, it’s just…” Felicity shakes her head once, trying to clear it. “No. Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was just asking how you’re liking your new position at QC," he says, and if he's fazed by her distraction, he doesn't show it.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s totally great. Very different from being an EA. In a really wonderful way, I mean," she says, just in case he thinks she doesn't completely love her new job. "And speaking of EAs, it’s kind of amazing to have one of my own.”

“Jerry’s working out for you then?” Ray asks, his arm bumping up against hers again. 

“Jerry’s great,” Felicity assures him. “Although, I do think he might have a crush on your assistant, Mark."

Ray nods knowingly. “Yeah, the two of them have been dancing around each other for a while,” he says. "I don't know why they don't just go for it."

"I know, right?" Felicity says as they reach her apartment building. "They should _totally_ go for it."

“Although,” Ray says, ducking his head so that a lock of dark hair falls over his forehead. He reaches up to brush it away, and Felicity notices that he's got really nice hands, his fingers long and thin. “I can see why they’d be cautious. Dating someone you work with can be a little risky. Especially if it goes bad, and then things get all weird and awkward and uncomfortable.”

“True,” she says, nodding and trying very hard not to think about Oliver. 

“But,” Ray says thoughtfully, “it also seems kind of ridiculous to _not_ date someone just because you work with them. I mean, risks can be good sometimes, don’t you think?”

Felicity nods because, yeah, risks can be good, and she's pretty tired of not taking risks.

So she kisses him, before she can talk herself out of it, standing up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. She kisses him because he’s nice and he’s handsome and she likes the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and because she’s just very tired of everything having to mean something, of trying to parse the hidden meaning behind every sigh and frown and blink.

Ray doesn’t hesitate when he kisses her back, his mouth opening under hers when she runs her tongue along his bottom lip. He puts one hand on her hip, reaching up with the other to cup the back of her head. His hands are big and warm and smooth, no callouses or scars, and his mouth is warm and soft. He tastes like red wine and dark chocolate, and kissing him isn’t something that’s going to change her whole world, but it also isn’t something that’s going to make her spend the next few months obsessing over what it means. 

It’s nice kiss, and she likes that there's not all this hidden weight behind it, that it means anything more than that she likes him and he likes her and when he pulls back, he’s smiling at her and her stomach flips pleasantly.

“Well,” he says, and she feels herself blushing a little.

"That was okay, right?" Felicity says, a sudden jolt of panic shooting through her. She just kissed her boss. Her boss who has not actually made any indication that he is interested in kissing her, and oh crap, maybe this was not such a good risk to take. "I mean, I'm not sexually harassing you or anything, right? And I know you're my boss, so maybe that was inappropriate. I mean, I don't..." She closes her eyes and presses her hand against her forehead.

Ray laughs lightly, and then he's reaching up and pulling her hand away from her face. "I had a really nice time today," he tells her. "I'd like to do it again sometime."

She smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirms. "Although maybe we'll skip the museum part. Or not, if you were really into the museum. We'll figure something out."

"Good," she agrees, and she can't seem to stop smiling.

"Goodnight, Felicity," he tells her. He leans over and presses a quick kiss against her cheek.

“Goodnight, Ray,” Felicity says.

She stands on her front porch, watching him walk away until she sees something out of the corner of her eye, a flash of green on the rooftop of the building across from hers, and when Felicity turns to look, she thinks she sees someone there, dark and unmoving and impassive, but then she blinks and it's gone.

*

“Ms. Smoak?” Jerry buzzes her over the intercom on her desk phone on Monday afternoon. “There’s someone here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he says he’s a friend of yours?”

Felicity looks up from her computer, glancing through the glass walls of her office, and sees Diggle standing in front of Jerry’s desk, a bag of food from Big Belly Burgers in one hand and a couple of take-out cups in the other. Felicity smiles and tells Jerry that Diggle never needs an appointment and to let him through. Jerry stands up immediately, gesturing Diggle through to her office.

“I like what you've done with the place," Diggle says by way of greeting. 

Felicity rolls her eyes. “It looks exactly the same as it did when Oliver was here.” 

“That plant is new," Diggle protests, nodding at the ficus near the window. "Plus, your presence alone is enough to brighten up the place. Besides, Oliver was only up here because his name is on the building. This is different. It’s impressive. I’m happy for you, Felicity.”

“Thanks, John,” she says, and she feels weirdly like she might cry. “So,” she says clearing her throat. “Are any of the burgers in that bag for me, or…?”

“A burger, fries, _and_ a chocolate shake,” he tells her holding one of the cups out to her. 

“You know a way to a girl’s heart, Digg,” she says, clearing a bunch of spare computer parts off the conference table near the window and gesturing for him to sit down. 

“Sorry to stop by unannounced,” he says, unloading the food onto the table and divvying it up between them. 

“Please,” Felicity says waving off his apology. “You’re always welcome here. Especially when you come bearing cheeseburgers.”

Diggle smiles as they sit across from each other and start in on their food, eating in companionable silence for a few minutes. 

“So, how is the new job working out?” he asks, popping a couple of fries into his mouth.

“Amazing,” Felicity tells him, not able to stop herself from smiling. “I’m in charge of the _entire_ Cyber Security division, which is great, but also a little overwhelming because I have all of these people working for me and I’m in charge of pretty much everything. Cyber Security-wise, I mean. Not _everything_ everything. It’s basically my dream job, even though it is totally intimidating and sometimes I feel completely under-qualified. It’s not like IT girl to Executive Assistant to Division Head is a common career trajectory," she says wryly.

But Diggle just gives her an understanding smile. “You deserve this, Felicity,” he says, and the quiet confidence in his voice makes her want to hug him. “We both know your talents were being wasted as Oliver’s EA.”

She just shrugs and takes a bite of her cheeseburger, not wanting to think too hard about anything Oliver-related right now. 

Diggle clears his throat. “Speaking of Oliver,” he says, and Felicity resists the urge to sigh. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

Felicity quirks an eyebrow, giving him a _you’ve-got-to-be-kidding_ look, and he smiles ruefully.

“Recently, I mean. Saturday night, maybe?”

“Saturday night?” Felicity says, confused. “No. I haven’t seen Oliver since I left the foundry on Friday. On Saturday, I was...” she trails off, thinks of that feeling of being followed as Ray walked her home, of the quick flash of green she saw on the roof across from her apartment. She swallows hard, refusing to think about the implications of that, and shakes her head. “I haven’t seen Oliver all weekend,” she says. 

“Hmm,” Diggle says thoughtfully, leaning forward so that his elbows are braced against the table, his hands clasped in front of him. “It’s just that he’s been acting a little off, and I’m trying to figure out if something happened or --”

“John,” she cuts him off, her voice soft. “Please, don’t. I don’t want to talk about Oliver. I don’t know why he’s acting however it is he’s acting. I don’t know why he does a lot of the things he does, so can we please just talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Diggle says, and his voice is understanding and kind and Felicity feels tears starting to burn at the back of her eyes. “Whatever you want, Felicity.”

“Thank you.” She gives him a watery smile, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Now, tell me about that scrumptious daughter of yours.”

Diggle smiles, and then he’s off, his whole face lighting up as he talks about his family, and Felicity smiles back, ignoring the tight feeling her her chest as she listens to John tell her about all of the things in life that Oliver has decided he can never have.

*

When Ray asks her out to dinner again a couple of days later, Felicity accepts with hardly any hesitation at all, telling herself that this is a good thing, that Ray is smart and handsome and charming and that this is exactly what she wanted. 

She wanted to do more than sit in the foundry while her heart slowly broke, wanted to do more than just wait for Oliver to see that life wasn’t as bleak and dire as he was determined for it to be. She wanted to have a life.

So she dates Ray on the nights when she’s not at the foundry, and she hangs out with Roy on the weekends, and she has lunch with Diggle every Monday, and if she and Oliver barely talk at all anymore, well. That’s just the way things are now.

*

Felicity’s surprised it takes as long as it does for her secret life to interfere with her relationship with Ray. For the most part, she’s been making it work pretty well, dividing her time between her Arrow-life and her normal-life, managing to keep her two worlds separated. 

It helps that Ray travels a lot for work, meeting with investors and trying to get other companies interested moving to Starling City. And even on the nights when he’s in town and she’s got Arrow-business to attend to, Felicity can usually either work remotely from her laptop at home or get out of the foundry early enough to meet him for drinks or sometimes even dinner. 

She never gets over it, the feeling that they’re being watched, but she’s got no proof and Oliver has never said anything, and after a while, she just stops worrying about it. There’s nothing she can do about it, really, and so it’s just one more thing that she and Oliver never talk about. 

But then, one bitingly cold night in January when Felicity’s in the middle of dinner with Ray at Table Salt, everything falls apart. 

There was no mission scheduled for tonight, not even any recon or anything, just a normal patrol for Oliver and Roy while Diggle mans the comms, but Felicity keeps her phone out on the table anyway, just in case. She and Ray are just finishing up their salads when her phone lights up, and when she glances down at the screen, there's a text from Roy. She reads it, and it’s like everything just stops. 

_oliver shot. on r way 2 foundry. need u asap._

“Oh god,” Felicity says, a hot knot of anxiety building in her throat as she reads the text over and over again. It was supposed to be a slow night; just a simple patrol in the Glades, totally low-risk.

“Felicity?” Ray says. “Everything okay?”

“No, I...my friend was in an accident.” She stands so quickly, her chair clatters to the floor. 

“What can I do?” Ray says immediately.

“Nothing. I’m...I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” She doesn’t wait to hear Ray’s response, just grabs her bag and runs out the door. Her heart's in her throat and she has a sick feeling in her stomach, and all she can think about is Oliver.


	3. Chapter 3

When Felicity gets to the foundry, Oliver is lying on the steel table in the center of the room, his eyes closed and his body still, and it feels like there’s not enough air in the room, like she can’t breathe. She stops when she sees him there, her fingers clenching around the stair railing as Diggle and Roy turn to look at her.

“Oliver?” she says. Her voice catches in her throat and her vision narrows, going black around the edges.

“He’s okay,” Diggle says immediately. 

Oliver’s still not moving, and there’s a bandage taped to his shoulder, a dark red-brown splotch of blood seeping through the gauze, but now that she’s closer, she can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest. She feels something in her chest loosen and it’s like she can finally breathe again. Her phone buzzes and she turns it off without looking, not bothering to check the display. 

“What happened?” she demands, clattering down the stairs as quickly as she can in her ridiculously high heels. She ran all the way here in her sexy-yet-impractical shoes, and her feet ache, blisters cutting into her heels. 

“I’m not sure,” Roy says. He’s got a wild, panicked look in his eyes, and there’s a smear of blood on his cheek, so dark it looks black. “We were out near the docks. I didn’t even see the shooter, just Oliver getting hit. He seemed fine at first, but then he just, he collapsed.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened.”

“The wound isn’t too bad; it just needed a couple of stitches,” Diggle tells her reassuringly. “But I think the arrow might have been drugged. His vitals are fine, but he’s unresponsive.”

Felicity just nods, her eyes starting to burn with tears. Roy puts a hand on her shoulder, and she leans into him, pressing her side against his, even as she realizes that something’s not adding up. They were supposed to be patrolling the Glades tonight, not the docks; there’s no reason they should have been over on that side of town at all. 

“You guys were just doing a regular patrol?” she asks. Neither one of them responds, and she doesn’t miss the quick glance Diggle and Roy exchange.

“I brought the arrow back with us,” Roy tells her before she can press any further, holding out an arrow with a thin, charcoal-grey shaft; it looks a lot like the arrows that Sara was shot with, and Felicity makes a mental note to run a comparison to see if it might link the two attacks. The arrowhead is sticky with blood, and Felicity’s stomach turns, temporarily distracting her from the fact that Roy didn’t actually answer her question about patrol. “We thought maybe you could run some tests, see if you can figure out what was on it.”

“I can definitely do that.” Felicity nods, clearing her throat and taking the arrow from him, grateful to have something to do. Oliver is very still on the table, his skin a sickly greyish-white under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the basement, and Felicity’s breath hitches in her throat as she looks down at him. 

“He’s going to be okay, Felicity,” Diggle says, and she closes her eyes, the tears that have been threatening to fall streaming down her cheeks. 

After a couple of seconds, she takes a steadying breath, brushing the tears away and squaring her shoulders. She brings the arrow over to the workstation across the room, the same desk where the fern is. It's still looking healthy, green and alive, and Felicity tries not to think too much about that as she puts on gloves and grabs a cotton swab, taking a sample of blood from the arrowhead and getting the tests started. 

It doesn’t take long before the computer beeps, the test results popping up on the screen. Digg and Roy both look over at her expectantly. 

“The arrow had traces of haloperidol,” Felicity tells them, quickly scanning the information on the monitor in front of her, relaxing a little as she reads the results. “It’s a common tranquilizer, used to treat schizophrenia, aggression, and acute psychosis; it shouldn’t have any long-term effects. Once Oliver wakes up, he should be fine.”

John and Roy exhale at the same time, and it’s like the air in the room is suddenly lighter.

“Why shoot the Arrow with a harmless tranquilizer?” Roy asks. “I mean, with all the different strains of Vertigo out there, not to mention all of the exotic, dangerous poisons...a tranquilizer? Doesn’t that seem kind of weird?”

“Not if all you want to do is take the Arrow out of commission for a few hours,” Diggle says. “Or send him a warning.”

The three of them contemplate that for a couple of seconds, and then Felicity remembers the way they evaded her question earlier about being at the docks rather than in the Glades.

“What were you guys doing out there tonight?” Felicity asks. “You were supposed to be patrolling in the Glades.”

Roy looks down at the floor, and Diggle crosses his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. “Oliver got a tip that Sara had another safe house in town, in an abandoned building down near the docks. He and Roy went to check it out.”

“A tip,” Felicity repeats. “From who?”

Diggle shrugs one shoulder. “Oliver didn’t say. But he thought it was worth a look.”

“And none of you thought you should tell me about this tip?” Felicity demands, suddenly furious. They’re supposed to be a team; they’re not just supposed to make decisions and leave her out of the loop and almost get themselves killed. 

“We knew you had plans,” Roy says, and there’s no recrimination in his voice, but Felicity feels a surge of guilt rush through her. “And it was supposed to be low-risk. Diggle was manning the comms, and I was securing the perimeter; it was just a recon mission.”

Felicity doesn’t answer, just crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes at him. She hates this feeling, like since she’s not down here every second of every day, they’ve just decided they can make these kinds of decisions without her. It’s completely unfair; they can all have a personal life and stay in the loop, but as soon as she tries it, they’re withholding information from her and getting shot while they investigate a tip that was probably a very obvious trap. 

“We’re sorry, Felicity,” Diggle says sincerely, and Roy nods in agreement. “We shouldn’t have done this without you; it was a mistake we won’t make again.”

Felicity glares at them, not quite ready to let this go even with the apology. She just hates that she wasn’t there, hates knowing that maybe if she would have been, things could have gone differently. She huffs out a frustrated sigh, smoothing a hand over the top of her head and feeling completely helpless. 

“Listen,” Diggle says evenly. “Oliver’s going to be fine. We’ll move him over to the bed so he’ll be more comfortable, and tomorrow when he wakes up, the four of us will discuss this and figure out our next move, all right?”

“Fine,” Felicity relents, the anger draining out of her just as quickly as it arrived. “But I want the address of this supposed safe house, and I want any and all information Oliver gave you about whoever sent him the tip. Where’s Oliver’s phone?” 

Diggle sighs, but leans over to grab Oliver’s phone, handing it to Felicity and then giving her the address of the safe house. She heads over to her computers while Diggle and Roy carry Oliver over to his bed, the one she bought him just a few months ago, when everything seemed like it was finally going to be okay. It feels like it was a million years ago now, like she and Oliver are never going to get back to where they were, all easy smiles and casual touches. 

Felicity tries not to think about that as she pulls up the property records, typing in the address Digg gave her to see if she can trace the owner of the building where Oliver was shot. It doesn’t take long before she’s completely immersed in the computers, tracking down leads and following sources, the scrolling numbers and words familiar and comforting. She’s not sure how long Diggle stands beside her before he clears his throat, and she jumps a little, blinking at him behind her glasses. Across the room, she can see Oliver lying on the bed, the sheets pulled up around his waist, and Roy’s hovering over near the stairs, already changed back into his street clothes. 

“You should go home, Felicity,” Diggle tells her. His voice is gentle but firm. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

“I’m not leaving,” she says, glancing up at him over the top of her glasses. “There’s still a couple of things I want to check out about the building, and I still need to see if I trace the number that called Oliver with the tip. You guys go. I’ll stay with him.”

“Felicity,” Digg starts, sounding exasperated. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted. She wonders how much sleep he’s getting these days, between their mission to save the city and having a newborn at home.

“Go home to your family, John,” she says, and Diggle blinks, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Oliver’s fine, you said so yourself. There’s no need for you to stay here tonight. Go home.”

Diggle sighs, nodding tiredly. “Fine,” he says. “But if you need anything…”

“You’ll be the first to know,” she assures him. He smiles, and reaches out to give her shoulder a gentle squeeze before he grabs his coat and heads for the stairs.

“You sure you’re going to be okay down here?” Roy asks once Diggle’s gone. “Because I can stay if you want.”

“I’ll be fine,” she tells him. “Besides, didn’t you have plans with Thea tonight? She’s probably waiting for you.”

Roy smiles softly a little at that, and something in Felicity’s chest gets tight. “Hey,” Roy says, kneeling down so that they’re face-to-face. He’s still got the blood on his cheek, and Felicity reaches up with her free hand to wipe it away with the pad of her thumb. “Sorry if I scared you. With that text, I mean. I know you were supposed to be having dinner with Ray…but, I just thought you would want to be here.”

“I did. I do. I...thank you, Roy. ”

“I got the cot out of the supply closet,” he tells her. “It’s set up next to the bed if you want to get some sleep.”

She smiles gratefully at him, and he presses a quick kiss against the crown of her head. 

“Oliver’s going to be fine,” he says, getting to his feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

Felicity nods, and then Roy’s gone too, leaving her alone in the basement with Oliver. She starts up a couple of programs on her computers, plugging Oliver’s phone into one to see if she can figure out who tipped him off to the warehouse, and then pulls out her own phone, powering it back up. 

She’s got five missed calls and three texts, all from Ray. She thinks about calling him back, but she doesn’t think she can deal with that right now, so she just texts him and tells him she’s fine and that she’s sorry and she’ll see him tomorrow at work. Then she turns off the phone so he can’t ping it and trace her back to the foundry. 

Once she puts the phone back in her bag, she glances over at her monitors, but the searches are all still running, no results yet. She takes a deep breath and heads over Oliver, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor of the foundry. 

He looks strangely small, lying on his back on the narrow bed, covered by nothing other than a thin white sheet. Felicity takes a deep breath, sitting down heavily on the cot next to him and covering her face with both hands. She lets out a shaky sigh and drags a hand through her hair, wishing she knew what she was doing, wishing that things with Oliver hadn’t worked out like they did, wishing everything could just be easier. 

The bandage on his shoulder is dark with blood and his arms are lying flat by his sides, and Felicity takes his hand in hers without even thinking about it, reaching for him like she used to, back when they did things like talk to each other and touch each other.

His fingers are cold, and she rubs them gently between her hands, warming them up. It’s been weeks since she’s touched him, and and she just misses him _so much_. 

Felicity sits there holding his hand until her computer beeps, signalling the end of the search, and Felicity squeezes Oliver’s hand gently before getting up and making her way back across the room, kicking off her shoes as she settles back into her chair, cracking her knuckles and getting to work.

*

Felicity keeps at it as long as she can, until the words and numbers on the screen start to blur and her eyes start to burn. 

Her searching has turned up frustratingly little in the way of leads, and she feels another spike of annoyance that they followed up this tip without her. It’s always easier to trace these things when they happen; hours later, any trail that was there has probably vanished. 

All she’s managed to discover is that the number that called Oliver was clearly a burner phone, the call made from one of the busiest plazas in Starling City, and the building where Oliver was attacked seems to be owned by a dummy corporation; Felicity’s going to need more time to trace the actual owner. 

She yawns, wide enough that her jaw caches, and then takes off her glasses, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes until she sees stars. She leaves the computers on, letting the probably-useless searches keep running, and then gets to her feet, rolling her neck to work out the kinks, wincing at the way it cracks loudly in the silence of the foundry. Across the room, Oliver hasn’t moved, his body completely still other than the gentle rise and fall of his chest. 

Her mind is still racing, presenting a million possible scenarios she can still investigate, algorithms she can still configure to improve her searches, but she knows she needs to get some sleep. She still has to work tomorrow morning, and she knows from experience she’s going to need at least three hours of sleep if she wants to be able to function at all. So she makes her way across the room and pulls down the switch that turns off the lights, the basement plunged into darkness.

By now she knows the layout of the foundry as well as she knows her own apartment, and she makes her way in the dark over to the cot next to Oliver’s bed, careful not to bump into anything, the concrete cold against her bare feet. 

She lays on her side, facing Oliver, reaching over to take his hand again. His fingers are warmer now, and Felicity presses her palms against his before she drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

*

The next morning, she wakes up with a start, feeling disoriented. It’s still dark in the room, but the lack of windows in the basement means that it’s always dark, and she has no idea what time it is.

When she looks at Oliver, he’s already awake, watching her in the darkness, the white sheet pooled around his hips. They’re still holding hands, she realizes, her fingers clasped loosely around his.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is low and rough, and his fingers are warm against her skin.

“Hey,” she says back. This is the most they’ve touched each other in weeks, and Felicity only hesitates for a second before she lets go of his hand. Her fingers feel suddenly cold, but she resists the urge to take his hand again, sitting up and wincing slightly. Her back aches from sleeping on the cot. “How are you feeling?” she asks. 

Oliver blinks, his brow furrowed like he’s not really sure how he feels, and for a second, Felicity thinks he’s going to do the whole brooding-stoic thing, to tell her he’s totally fine. So she’s a little surprised when he says, “I’m really thirsty, actually.”

“I’ll get you some water,” she says, feeling weirdly grateful to have something to do.

Oliver nods, closing his eyes again and swallowing hard. Felicity watches him for a few beats, before she swings her legs over the side of the cot, and then makes her way over to the little mini-fridge over near the training mats, grabbing a bottle of water and then heading back over to the cot.

Oliver’s sitting up now, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes on the floor. He glances up at her when she stands in front of him, the bottle of water held out to him, and he sucks in a sharp breath, loud in the quiet of the basement.

“Oliver?” Felicity says immediately, reaching down to him, her hand hovering over the bandage on his arm. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it your shoulder?”

Oliver nods, taking the water from her hand, their fingers brushing. “That…” he says, his voice low and rough. He clears his throat. “That is a very nice dress, Felicity.” 

“What?” Felicity freezes and looks down. She’s wearing the black strappy dress and it’s gotten twisted up while she slept, the skirt rucked up a little too high, and Felicity tugs it mostly back into place. She’s blushing so hard, her face feels like it’s on fire. “Uh, yeah. I was...I was at dinner when Roy texted me. So…” she shrugs, resisting the urge to pull on the hem of her skirt again.

“You were on a date,” Oliver says in a quiet voice. It sounds like he’s talking more to himself than to her.

Felicity doesn’t answer, just chews on her lip, hating herself a little for the guilt that surges inside of her. She has nothing to feel guilty about, she reminds herself. She’s allowed to have a life outside this basement. 

Oliver shakes his head once, then uncaps the water and takes a long drink, his throat working.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Oliver finally says, setting the water down on the floor and looking down at his hands. His tone is brusque and kind of cold, and now she hates him a little for acting like it’s nothing, like just because they’re not together, that she shouldn’t care about him. “I was fine.”

“You were hurt, and you needed my help,” Felicity tells him, sitting down on the bed next to him, leaving enough space between them for a whole other person. She’s not going to play this game with him right now, isn’t going to act like this is no big deal. This _is_ a big deal, it's important, and Oliver doesn’t get to dictate all of the terms of their relationship.

“Felicity --” he says, but she takes his hand, threading her fingers through his. She tries to ignore the way his breath catches when she touches him, but her heart suddenly feels like it’s not beating right.

“I know that things between us are kind of weird and strained and horrible right now,” she says, staring down at their hands. “But we’re still partners, and partners have each others’ backs,” she tells him, and when she glances up, he’s watching her closely, a look on his face she can't quite read. “I wouldn’t have _not_ come, regardless of where I was, or what I was doing, or who I was with. If you need me, Oliver, I’ll be here.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to watch me die down here,” he says, and even as the words leave his mouth, Felicity can tell that he regrets them. 

“You look pretty alive to me,” she says lightly, giving him a smile, not thinking about how he looked last night when she came down the stairs, blood on his chest and his body still as he lay on the stainless steel table.

Oliver blinks, the look on his face so miserable that it makes her chest hurt. “I just want you to be happy,” he says. 

Felicity has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling him that being with him is what would make her happy, and that maybe if he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own martyrdom, he might be able to see that. But he needs to figure things out on his own, she knows, if there’s ever going to be any hope for them at all. 

“I have your back, Oliver,” she says instead, her voice soft. “No matter what.” 

Oliver swallows hard, and strokes his thumb gently over the back of her knuckles. His hand is warm and soft in hers, and Felicity’s pulse is pounding in her ears, her heart just racing, racing, racing.

“Thank you,” he finally says, looking back up at her in that way he has, like she's the only person in the whole world. His eyes are very, very blue, and Felicity’s stomach flips pleasantly. “For having my back.”

“Always," she says, and she's never meant anything more in her life. 


End file.
